An Elfin Smile
by The-Fickle-Lady
Summary: Tyrion attends a tourney at Harrenhall held in honor of Rickon Stark and Dorea Sand's recent union. There, he is greeted by a little girl.


ASOIAF

An Elfin Smile

Disclaimer: I Own Nothing.

Summary: Tyrion attends a tourney hosted in honor of Rickon Stark and Dorea Sand's wedding at Harrenhall. There, he is greeted by a little girl.

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><p>Harrenhall was still a ghastly sight of melted stone and foreboding size Tyrion found upon his retinue's arrival there. He hoped the conditions within its walls were not let on by its exterior. His party rode within, horse after horse, cart by cart, until they had all joined the rest of the bustling yard where other parties were unloading their luggage and such and carried it into the colossal holdfast. Young lords, knights, and even some ladies were shouting orders to the squires and maids who had joined them on their journey. By the sheer size of the crowd, the people it was comprised of being just the arrivals of that day so far, Tyrion could only assume half the continent's nobility had decided to attend the tourney, regardless of whether they were of the North or South by the looks of the various sigils he spotted.<p>

"I can't believe she gave her brother all this." Tyrion heard his squire mutter under his breath beside him. "What was that, Leonard?" He asked. "Nothing, My Lord." The boy replied easily as his eyes scanned their new environment curiously. "I was just wondering what some boy lord would do with all this."

"Better a boy lord with a big castle than a boy king with three kingdoms." Tyrion pointed out. Sansa had been wise to consign her younger brother to the role of Lord Paramount of Harrenhall. The land and its seat of power gave the allusion of real power compared to her own, and thus lulled all men wary of her and her threat to the supremacy of men into a false sense of security. The same went for her young cousin Robert Arryn, also recently wed. She'd championed him as the Lord of the Vale over his cousin Harrold Hardyng's vehement protests, but despite the masculine figure bearing the titles of House Arryn, it was truly Sansa who ruled through the boy. The same would most likely go for her brother Rickon, as well as his and Robert's brides. No doubt, Sansa had raised the girls to bear a sense of loyalty to her stronger than what they had ever felt for the family and land they had not known for nearly six years. And now, with the Greyjoy bastard…

Tyrion would be lying if he said he was not perturbed by how far-reaching and influential Sansa's power had grown. That girl, his little wife, who he had once steadfastly believed was no assassin or mastermind had become a force to be reckoned with; to the point that Queen Daenerys would rather send her Hand than face the fellow woman and possibly fall victim to some plot of hers.

Tyrion suspected that was the case. Sansa and Daenerys notoriously despised each other since their conflict years ago which ended in the death of the Targaryen Queen's last dragon and the literal separation of the North from the rest of the Westerosi continent. Daenerys was no fool and had her own web of power and influence; she knew quite well that coming within a league of the Queen in the North, even with a proper invitation and so-called guest rights to protect her, was asking for the Strangler in her wine and spies in her bedchamber.

Leonard helped Tyrion off his horse. Knowing his squire and castellan could handle the unloading of the carts without being supervised like babes just beginning to walk, Tyrion took himself and his aching bones inside the holdfast to find some wine and food. However, those plans were quickly and soundly trounced by a little girl barreling into him out of nowhere. Or perhaps around a corner. It honestly happened so fast Tyrion had no idea.

"I'm sorry, My Lord." With a groan, Tyrion rolled onto his stomach and climbed to his feet, no easy task considering his condition and age. The girl stood before him, rocking back and forth on her heels with an elfin smile that showed she was less than apologetic despite her words. There was a twinkle in her eye that let on she had ulterior motives beyond the typical mischief for girls her age.

"No harm done, My Lady." Tyrion said, brushing off the soreness he already felt blossoming were he'd fallen. "Tell me though; what had you in such a hurry? A game mayhaps?" He asked the girl who shook her head, dark locks swaying to-and-fro. Her elfin smirk faded a moment, giving way to a shy curvature that struck Tyrion as strangely familiar. Was the girl a relative to someone he knew? He wondered. That could explain the mischievous gleam in her young blue eyes. Perhaps an old enemy of his had taken an overeager little kinsman of theirs under their wing and contracted them in a plot beyond the child's comprehension. Whatever the source of the familiarity, it was gone as soon as the girl collected herself and her elfin smile returned. She was once again simply an odd little girl.

"I was running from my uncle and aunt." The girl explained. "We're playing a game."

"What sort?" Tyrion asked curiously. The girl giggled.

"Tag, of course, Lord Tyrion." She laughed, rolling her blue eyes at him.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, though not out of any real surprise or inquiry. "You know me?" He asked the girl.

"Everyone knows _you_." The girl said, rolling her eyes. "Just like they all know my mother, uncle, and aunt. A lot of people know the rest of my family, but my mother, older uncle, and aunt are the ones _everyone _knows." She explained with the exaggerated, wide-mouthed pronunciations and drawling children her age were known for.

"Your family sounds rather famous," Tyrion remarked merrily, but even as he smiled upon the child before him, his mind began to meticulously study every inch of the girl, seeking to confirm the suspicions her words had planted in him. The girl nodded enthusiastically at first, but then, as if catching herself half an inch away from burning her hand on a hot brazier, she turned solemn. "Not in a good way." She whispered, and once again, the girl tickled Tyrion with familiarity that he could not quite place. He found himself smiling sympathetically and patting her on the cheek. "There is no such thing as a good way of being famous, my dear. Even kind acts have a bitter underbellies." He said comfortingly. She smiled thankfully.

Still, even in that tender moment, Tyrion did not waste a second of his analysis. He found the girl was indeed familiar, though he was sure he had never laid eyes on her before. She reminded him of a girl he scarcely could remember the face of now, only much younger and with hair the color of moist soil rather than rich auburn. Those blue eyes stuck a cord as well. They were the same eyes that long ago in King's Landing had held near constant fear under a thin veneer of serenity before cooling to an icy blue that seemed incapable of ever thawing into river blue once more.

Tyrion retracted his hand from the girl's cheek and bowed as deeply as he could without pain, adding the flare of stateliness with a broad wave of his arm. "Forgive me, My Lady. I have forgotten myself." He said humbly. The girl, realizing the situation, straightened her posture and raised her chin. "It's all alright, My Lord." She said with was most likely her most high and noble tone of voice. The girl hadn't quite mastered the art of decorum quite yet it seemed. She was much too overstated with her earnest graciousness. Tyrion smiled. "No, no, no, My Lady. What Hand would I be to disrespect the princess of the Southern Kingdom's beloved neighbors to the north? Please, allow me an audience with your mother to apologize." He said, exaggerating his own affability, causing the girl to giggle.

He offered her his arm. "Well?" He pressed. The girl took his arm and happily skipped all the way to her mother's location, all but dragging Tyrion beside her. They found Sansa sitting in a pavilion outside with several ladies and lords. Upon their arrival, the young queen had two fervent reactions in the span of seconds; first, she beamed at the sight of her daughter; second, she blinked in surprise at the sight of Tyrion before collecting herself. She gently shooed away the ladies and lords from the pavilion, leaving just the three of them and several dozen lemoncakes within the tent.

The girl happily climbed into her mother's lap. Sansa kissed her daughter's forehead in greeting. "I see you found Queen Daenerys' Hand, Lord Tyrion Lannister, sweetling." Sansa remarked. The girl nodded eagerly and her mother's lips quirked to form a knowing smile. "You were looking for him, I imagine." She continued, and the girl bashfully nodded once again, her smile torn between mischievous and embarrassed. Sansa pinched the girl's cheek and sent her off to play.

"She was looking for me?" Tyrion asked once the girl had left the pavilion, not sure if he was really surprised or not. Sansa smiled thinly at him. "She has been quite excited to meet you." She said. "Why, may I ask?" Sansa shook her head. "She's too young to know much more than the fact you are Daenerys' Hand and," Sansa abruptly paused, considering her words obviously. She eyed him warily, most likely debating whether she should trust him. Tyrion did not blame her. He couldn't guarantee that he would not relay anything she told him, even the minutest detail, straight to his queen's ears upon his return to King's Landing in a fortnight's time.

Sansa collected herself primly, shaking off her doubtfulness in favor of leveling him with those stern blue eyes of hers. "Tell me, My Lord, have you heard the rumors behind my daughter's parentage? And that of my son as well?" She asked him calmly. Tyrion had indeed. Who hadn't spared their ear at least once to hear the fabled origins of the Queen in the North's bastards?

At court, for those who were still around to remember Sansa's youth, it was a topic that had fascinated them all for seven years, ever since the child' conception was first heard of. The earliest rumor to reach Tyrion's ears, if he recalled correctly, was that the child was his own brother's. Of course, Tyrion dismissed the rumor right away, knowing that no matter how loyal and strangely protective Jaime was of his queen, there was no lust or romantic love between the two; only respect and fondness. His brother had confirmed the falseness of the rumor in a letter weeks later as well of course. Tyrion had pressed Jaime for the truth then, but his brother had denied him it, as he would do years later with the second bastard's heritage as well.

Truly, Tyrion found his brother's secretiveness the most frustrating part of the whole scandal. However, his own ponderings weren't far behind. There had been moments when he'd find himself wondering about his former wife, that guarded girl he'd known so long ago, and he'd have to fight off the thoughts of how his sister may have succeeded more in corrupting her than he had previously thought. The rumors about Jon fathering the bastards did not help one bit.

"I heard a tale or two." He answered simply. Sansa nodded.

"Any theories of your own? I do remember you having a number of skills in deduction."

Tyrion hummed thoughtfully for the show of it. "I can't say I have, Your Grace. More pressing matters than gossip find their way to my desk you see."

Sansa's frosty exterior seemed to melt a fraction as she smiled at him more genuinely than before. "I do believe you are a liar, My Lord." She said and then let out a laugh. "What a shock." She added sarcastically, still smiling. "Come on then, tell me what you think. I really must know what you of all people think."

"You want me to be honest? Truly, brutally so?"

"By all means, My Lord." Sansa waved a hand and visibly relinquished herself to whatever his answer was. She smiled thinly all the while.

"Fine then," Tyrion said. "I know she's Pod's."

Sansa remained unfazed, only sighing at his words. "And?" She questioned.

He had no need of further prompting. "I suspected it as far back as your rebellion, when we last saw each other at Riverrun during yours and Daenerys'…_negotiations_, I believe you called those verbal duels of yours." Sansa's thin smile widened sardonically. "The point is, Your Grace, when my squire and I were enjoying our reunion, I sensed something different about him. When he politely refused my offer to return to my service, I knew something held him to your side. I speculated it might be a one-sided romantic attraction, but upon hearing his name pass your lips without a title and with clear affection, I knew you cared for him as well." Tyrion thought back to the day the news of the bastard's birth had reached King's Landing. It took longer than it would have in Varys' days on the council, before he disappeared to some far off corner of the globe, but the news came soon enough, before the babe's eyes settled on a color surely. Daenerys had been disgruntled and several members of court laughed and called Sansa several crude names, but later that night, Tyrion had done a silent toast of congratulations to the child's father. "News of your pregnancy was the last puzzle piece to fall into place, though the image had been rather clear even before then." He said.

Sansa nodded her head slowly. "I see. That makes sense." She said quietly.

An awkward silence settled between them. Tyrion coughed into his fist to break it and then asked, "What is the girl's name? The boy as well? I can't say I remember." Sansa's thin smile widened. "It'd be a mixed blessing if that mind of yours was going." She remarked laughingly. Tyrion chuckled as well. "Her name is Robyn. Her brother is Edwyn. They're Starks." Sansa answered, a twinkle in her eye that Tyrion found himself immediately fond of. He'd be sure to engage in conversation of her children in the future if it meant seeing it again. "And Robyn will be six this next moon or so?" He asked, skipping the most obvious and hurtful question of "Robyn? Like your brother I assume?" Or maybe that cousin of hers. It didn't matter. One was long gone, the other wobbling on a dangerous perch above the jaws of death. "Yes. We've planned a small feast to be attended by close friends and relatives at Winterfell to honor the occasion." Sansa explained.

The conversation continued at an idle pace, each sentence seeming to bring a little bit of light in Sansa's eyes as her icy guard slowly fell. Both her and Tyrion found themselves speaking cordially of their lives currently and over the past several years. Podrick's name, of course, came up several times. Like a spell, it seemed to invoke his appearance, for after an hour passed, the knight entered the pavilion with a little boy in his arms, fussing much to Podrick's blatant distress. The knight blanched at the sight of Tyrion however, and then beamed brightly.

"Lord Tyrion!" He exclaimed.

"Hello, Podrick." Tyrion greeted his former squire.

"Mother!" The small boy in Pod's arms protested loudly, wriggling with all his strength in his father's arms. Sansa smiled broadly, stood, and approached her lover and child, taking her son into her arms. Podrick smiled sheepishly at his queen. "He woke up cranky from his nap and demanded to see you." He explained, flushing. Tyrion watched the boy, Edwyn Stark, who was no more than three years of age, tuck his tiny red head in the crook of his mother's neck and immediately calm down, seeming to even fall back asleep. Sansa rubbed small circles in her boy's back as she pecked Pod on the cheek.

"He's like his sister that way." Sansa commented. "Remember when Robyn did the same exact thing when she was his age, only she wanted you, not me." Podrick smiled, reaching out to gently sweep his son's dark red hair out of his pudgy face. "Still hurts when I can't comfort him in your stead." Pod mumbled sadly, his smile disappearing. "Makes me feel like I'm not a real father to him."

"Nonsense, Pod." Tyrion threw in. "You're plenty a father to the boy already from what Sansa has told me." Podrick looked thrown, so Tyrion marched on. "You tuck the boy into bed every night, same with the girl. You use every spare minute you have to be by their sides, just in case they need you. You taught Robyn to ride a pony just this past month I've been told. And that boy, I'm sure, will need someone to teach him how to fight and be loyal and brave someday." Podrick smiled. "Thank you, My Lord." He said, and Tyrion found himself missing the days when Podrick would have said that with his eyes on his feet and his voice a mere mumble. _At least that smile is still sheepish_, he thought fondly.

"Mother!" An already familiar voice screeched from outside the tent. Robyn stormed inside, absolutely slathered in mud and looking utterly furious about that fact. "Uncle Rickon threw me in the pig pen!" She shouted, tiny fists quaking at her sides as she looked up at her parents, who both looked mortified. The iciness in Sansa's eyes returned with a razor edge. "Rickon." She seethed, handing off Edwyn to Pod, who then followed her out of the pavilion as loyally as he would on the march of war. Robyn stomped right on his heels, that elfin smile of hers playing on her lips along with the smugness that came with wreaking vengeance. Tyrion watched the small, secret family go with a smile. When they were gone, he poured himself some wine, helped himself to a lemoncake or two, and pondered whom that elfin smile of Robyn's came from, the Stark's or the Payne's.

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><p><strong>AN: This is sort of a follow up to my last ASOIAF fic "A Different Sort of Vows". I hope you enjoyed it. **

**Please leave a review! They make my idea and can help improve my writing! **


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